


Between Heaven and Earth

by sariagray



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:13:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariagray/pseuds/sariagray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto is neither lofty nor grounded. Jack is neither here nor there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Heaven and Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by analineblue.

Ianto stands like the weather, which is halfway between winter and spring.

The sun has been rising a bit earlier every day and the light sparkles like gold in the washed-out, faded blue of the sky. The grass, what little of it he can see, is gradually increasing the vibrancy of its green in the places where dirty snow has melted. But the trees are lean, bare, and charcoal grey, and the screeching wind is painfully chilling.

Two cups of coffee, not of his own making, warm his dry hands. It’s about all the drink is good for, truth be told, but Jack had knocked over the canister of coffee beans the night before while attempting to cook dinner. They had scattered over the linoleum, the rapid clatter of their descent deafening in the breathless silence. Jack had looked at him with such terrified contrition that Ianto could only laugh and kiss him, his feet crunching over the beans as he shifted closer.

In retrospect, he realizes that his reaction may have terrified Jack even more.

Ianto takes a tentative sip from his cup. It’s scalding, which is bad enough, but it’s weak, too. Still, he swallows the boiling water, grateful for the warmth that it carries. There is a light mist that clings to the bay and he watches as the wind cuts through it; the haze wafts and drifts like an army of ghosts.

It had been dark when Ianto had arrived, the sun just barely cresting over the horizon. He had meant to proceed from the lift to the metal staircase that led upward to Jack’s favorite rooftop, but his eye had been drawn to a solitary office doorway. The company’s nameplate had recently been ripped off of the wall, leaving a tear in the brittle paper underneath.

Ianto had used his shoulder to heft the heavy weight of the wooden door as his elbow depressed the unlocked handle. The walls were lined with windows on three sides and the sunlight bounced off of the glossed concrete floor before disappearing into the exposed ceiling. His cautious steps echoed sharp clacks throughout the cavernous space as he approached the furthest wall.

As far as he can recall, it had still been an office just last week.

Now, he surveys the city through windowpanes that appear to have been recently cleaned; the streaks are still noticeable when the light hits them just so. The room is cold without the addition of carpet, though he can hear the distinct clanking of the pipes overhead and so assumes that the heat is still working.

He stiffens when he hears the soft chink of the metal handle turning; though he is a good distance away, everything is so still that the smallest noise is magnified tenfold. There is a heavy footfall, too, that grows in volume as it approaches. The steps are confident, measured, and Ianto’s lips quirk into a half-smile.

The noises cease for a moment and then firm, silent hands rest on his hips. Solid warmth presses against his back and he eases into it, his muscles relaxing.

“Thought you got lost,” Jack’s voice murmurs directly in his ear. Lips press quickly against his temple and Ianto smiles to himself. “That for me?”

“Yep,” Ianto nods, his eyes fixed on the window, and holds out the paper cup.

The pressure on his hips seems to evaporate and the weight of the beverage lifts from his outstretched hand. Ianto waits as Jack sips, then splutters. He holds back a laugh.

“What _is_ this?”

“Your own fault,” Ianto chastises with a self-satisfied grin and takes a sip of his own; it really is horrible.

“Huh.” There is a pause, then a huff. “View’s better from the roof.”

“Colder, too,” Ianto points out and chuckles when he feels Jack nudge the side of his head.

“Would’ve kept you warm,” Jack whispers against the skin of his neck. Ianto shivers.

Then he blinks. It’s cold, so bitterly _cold_. He glances around the room and sighs, not particularly certain how long he’s been standing there. He finishes off his coffee with a gulp and looks at the other, full cup with disdain. Ianto had meant to give it to the guard at the front desk, but Oliver had been away from the station. He has grown rather fond of the guard who greets him with a friendly smile and a refreshing lack of curiosity; it makes these solitary sojourns to the rooftop less destitute. He wonders if Jack had ever chatted with the cheerful young man, what they might have talked about.

He bends down and places the cups on the shiny, grey floor and regards them studiously: one empty, one full. Rising stiffly, he stares out of the window once more. People are starting to crowd the walkways and a quick glance at his watch confirms that he should hurry if he plans to make it back to the Hub in time.

And he has to remember to pick up coffee along the way to replace the canister that he had thrown against the wall last night when the frustration had temporarily overwhelmed him.

Still, despite the time constraint, he can’t resist pressing his hand against the glass of the window. The cold of it makes his fingers ache. He glances up at the almost-white sky and sighs, a plea. He’s not really sure what he’s asking for, what he even _wants_ , but he’s asking all the same. Taking a step back, he watches the passersby below and gives them all a definitive nod. They don’t notice.

Ianto stands like the weather, which is halfway between Heaven and Earth.


End file.
